


As Close As I Get

by druxykexy



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, sleep yeah?, tropey taxi cab action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy/pseuds/druxykexy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is stranded in a warehouse district with no phone, no sleep, and no Chas. By the end of the night he'll have all but one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Close As I Get

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I couldn't stop laughing at [this.](http://devastationatlast.tumblr.com/post/113619614050)

John could put up with the harsh necessities. The mutilations of primitive magic, the occasional unavoidable torture sessions, and even the increasing weight of his failures.

What he wasn’t good at handling, however, were the unnecessary ones. And the timing on this case—and the resulting forty-one consecutive hours without sleep—definitely fell into the latter category.

But it was over now. He’d won. The demon was banished. Warehouses stood stark and rusted as they should.

He rested a cigarette, unlit, on his lip. It was time to call his favorite cab and let the ol’ driver pretend he wasn’t waiting up to find out if John was A-OK. Let Chas grumble about having to give him a ride again.

He pulled his mobile from his pocket but paused when he caught sight of the screen. Something must have gotten on it during the fight, some white cobweb-like substance. He wiped at it with his fingers, only to have it _bite_ him with sharp jagged little needles of teeth—

Of glass. _The_ glass. The screen was shattered—and he’d gone and jabbed himself on it like a bloody idiot.

He brushed the splinters from his skin, what he could see in the dark at least, and winced when it only seemed to drive a few of them deeper. He suspected he was going to be spending quality time with some tweezers in the near future. Another thing between him and his bed.

Mindful of the remaining shards, he pressed the power button, but there was no blinking green light, no cheerful wallpaper—no indicator of life whatsoever.

_Bloody hell._

He looked around but there was nothing here that would help him. No traffic, no shops—just stretches of decrepit walls and pavement.

“Is this all you have to offer me?” He spread his hands in question. “After I went and acted as the right savoir of this derelict industrial district?”

No payphones appeared in the shadows.

Christ _,_ look at him, he was _delirious_ from lack of sleep.

John shook his head, smiling faintly at himself as he lit the cigarette and took a fortifying drag.

"Looks like we’re doing a spot of walking."

 

#

 

The diner was exactly what John expected. Too bright and too full of intoxicated sods trying to see how well their dates from the clubs held up under fluorescents. Shrewder ones would have bypassed this misery and gone straight to a hotel before the intoxication wore off and the fantasy slipped out of place.

But as far as John was concerned, the diner was bloody Mecca. It had taken him over half an hour to get here, and by the time he’d seen the flashing neon he’d been on the verge of crawling into the nearest dumpster and taking a nap on all that cozy refuse—if it hadn’t been for the likelihood that he’d freeze to death. Or for the stench.

The middle-aged man behind the counter looked appropriately miserable about his job, but John gave him his most charming smile anyway. Or one that would have been charming if he wasn’t in a post-malevolent-demon-battle state and sleep deprived.

"Would you happen to have a phone I can use?" John asked.

"Don’t you have a cell?"

John forced himself to keep smiling. “I did, but I dropped it.” He flashed the cracked screen like a badge. “It’s broken, see?”

John waited.

After a longer than necessary moment, the man said, “If you want to stay here, you’ve got to order a meal.”

“I don’t want to stay here. I want to use a phone.” John took a breath. “So can I use yours to call my ride?”

"Phone’s for customers."

John silently counted to three. He could do this. He had money. It would give him something to do while he waited.

"How about some coffee then?" John asked.

The man pointed at a sign above his head: _Ordering “just coffee”? Then you can just leave._

 

#

 

The pavement was hard. There would be bruises where he’d made impact, on his shoulder and hip, but at least the regulars who’d tossed him out hadn’t stayed to keep him company. Of course, that only made it all the more likely that they were inside calling the police.

But it was worth it when he thought about just how long it would take that prat to clean all the _syrup_ out.

John retrieved the cigarette that had fallen on the ground, blew on it to remove any unwanted particles, and placed it on his lip.

He’d lost his temper too quickly though. He’d faced worse than a middle-aged wanker who got his kicks power-tripping customers too drunk or too hopeless to have comebacks, and he’d always managed to keep it together. No, he definitely needed to get some sleep before he went and did something truly stupid.

He pushed himself to his feet, lighting the cigarette as he took a moment to think.

He could cast a communication spell, or at the very least a directional one, but his situation wasn’t exactly dire. That was one thing that separated those who didn’t have experience with magic—or those who _shouldn’t_ have any—from those who did: conjuring forces was only an option when all the alternatives had been exhausted.

Besides, he was fatigued enough to make a mistake.

He’d managed to find a diner, and if he kept walking he was bound to get to a gas station or some other place that was open, and he’d be able to contact Chas from there.

 

#

 

It was cold. He wanted another cigarette but he might be at risk for losing fingers if he pried them out of his armpits.

This was madness.

He had no idea where he was going. This had looked like a main street. It was all concrete medians and sodium lights. But the (closed) businesses had quickly faded into more warehouses.

He’d been retreating into the shadows at the occasional sound of a passing car, flattening against red brick or old metal siding until he could tell if it was the police or worse. So far there had been no one _obviously_ threatening, but still not anyone he’d feel comfortable asking for a lift.

When he heard another engine, he was almost ready to just step forward and take the risk. Even the inside of a jail cell would at least have some heat.

He saw the bright yellow of the cab and his heart leap—only to splatter against a wall of reason.

The numbers were wrong. It wasn’t Chas. And this wasn’t exactly an area a driver would be in while looking to earn an honest fare.

But it was a possible lift, and whatever was waiting for him inside a car was unlikely to be something he couldn’t handle.

John moved forward, making himself visible as he hailed the cab.

The brakes squealed as it came to a halt. Chas would never leave his in that kind of condition.

The front passenger door swung open—definitely not part of standard protocol.

John stepped back.

"What do you think you're doing out here?" a familiar voice said.

John looked back at the numbers. Still wrong.

"Paul’s,” Chas said, answering John’s unasked question. “I was in the middle of replacing the fuel pump on mine."

“At this time of night?”

“It happened on the way home. And I figured I shouldn’t put it off, just in case.”

"How’d you find me?" John slid into the seat. It was patched with duct tape and smelled sour, acrid, and the padding was uneven in places.

It was heaven.

Although it would have been even better if he’d gotten into the back. He could’ve stretched out, pressed his cheek to unquestionably contaminated leather and caught forty winks.

But the cab had already begun to move, and he was hesitant to ask Chas to pull over and let him switch when it would only delay the time it took to get back to the mill.

"John?" Chas asked, his tone suggesting that John had missed something he’d said.

“What?”

"You're lucky you didn't get arrested."

"Arrested?"

"At the diner."

“How'd you know about the diner?"

Chas gave him a look. "Where Paul spotted you? You're the one who wanted to know how I found you."

"Oh. Right." John gave him a sheepish smile. "Guess I'm in need of a bit of a nap. Suppose you wouldn't fancy me plunking my head down in your lap, would you now?"

Chas’ eyebrows rose, but skeptically, as if he knew better than to be surprised by anything that came out of John’s mouth. But John liked to think that underneath all that he was imagining what it would be like if John’s lips were just a layer of fabric away, his breath sending waves of heat along Chas’ cock.

He continued to look at John, his expression showing no sign of lightening. Apparently Chas wasn’t in the mood to play tonight.

John grinned, giving a half shrug. "Don't worry, mate, I'm tired enough that I’d be asleep as soon as my head hit your trousers."

"I'm not worried.” Chas turned his attention back to the road. "Except when you go out to face something like that and don’t come back. That’s the kind of thing that gives me ulcers."

It wasn’t exactly a revelation that Chas was concerned about him, but it was unusual that he was being so direct about it.

"As if one of those would hang around inside your gut for more than a second or two."

Chas’ smile was grim. But it was still a smile, so John considered that a win.

“What happened to your phone?” Chas asked.

“Smashed.” John yawned, unable to hold it back. “During the fight.”

Chas nodded. He seemed disinterested in further conversation, and John was fine with that. His vision was getting blurry, almost gummy, as if his eyelids intended to glue themselves shut whether he had anything to say about it or not.

Turning away from Chas, he peeled his jacket off and wadded it up to use as a cushion between his skin and the glass. He’d had to sleep many times against the windows of moving things: cars, planes, buses, the odd train or two. He was an old hand at it.

Old enough to maintain just the right amount of alertness to sense if something was off, and after only a few minutes of this half-dozing, it became clear that something was.

Cracking his eyes open, he peered at Chas, but there was nothing alarming there. Of course, Chas had mastered the art of looking intently at the road while secretly lost in his broody, broody thoughts—a necessity for any cab driver, John imagined—but no, it was something else.

He found the source of the disquiet in the form of the mile marker. They’d passed the exit to the mill, and Chas was showing no sign of slowing down.

John sat up, rubbing his neck. “Where are we going?”

“Paul’s.”

John frowned. “Now?”

“I’ve got to return the cab, finish installing the fuel pump, and then we’ll be good to go.”

John stared at him in disbelief. “Can’t that wait until morning?”

“Paul’s shift starts in an hour and a half.”

“I’ve been up for two days. I’ve been battling _demons_. I need to get some rest if I’m going to be worth anything tomorrow.” John waited for a moment, but Chas didn’t appear swayed. “Drop me off at the mill first. You can be there and back in no time.”

Chas shook his head. “It won’t take long to finish. I’m almost done.”

A bloody sadist was what he was. Was this payback for something? For making him worry? Really it could have been for any number of things if he thought about it. It was hard to tell.

Fine. If Chas was trying to get something out of his system, then they may as well get it over with. It wasn’t like John hadn’t handled worse.

 

#

 

John recognized Paul, barely, as someone who’d entered the diner seconds before John had been tossed out. He still didn’t know how Paul’d recognized him—or if he even had—or how Chas ended up pulling the knight in shining taxi bit, and Paul didn’t stop to explain. He just hopped into his cab, bagged lunch in hand, and went squealing away, leaving the small house locked but the garage open. Classic suburbia _._

John didn’t particularly care if he ever solved the mystery. All of his focus was now on his current plan. He was going to curl up in the backseat of the cab and go to sleep, while Chas finished doing whatever it was he was going to do to make it work again.

He waited until Chas went to get some tool or other from the workbench before he made his move. John opened the back door of the cab, carefully since it was on jacks, and started to climb inside, only to stop, one foot off the concrete.

The backseat had been removed.

This was becoming a nightmare.

“What’re you doing?” Chas took the door from him, frowning.

“Nothing." Apparently. John turned away and he could feel Chas’ eyes on him.

The bench seat was sitting on the floor, not hard to miss now that John was looking for it. He put a hand out to test it, ignoring the way Chas glared at him as if he thought John was going to damage it somehow. But in the end it didn’t matter because it was too wobbly to be of any use.

Although that might not be a deterrent for much longer. John’s standards were dropping by the second, and he’d just about reached the point where he’d be willing to sleep on any semi-flat surface. The question of comfort was relative—being awake wasn’t bloody well comfortable. A few drinks would have made the process speedier, but he was getting there anyway.

The workbench was the only thing that looked remotely like a possibility. One push and all those tools would be on the floor. A clear space for him, yeah.

He ought to.

He stared at it for a long moment before he groaned and turned back to where Chas was leaning into the car, his hands buried in something or other.

“Wouldn’t be willing to pop the trunk for me, would you, mate?”

“Not while the car’s on jacks.”

He wasn’t surprised, but it still rankled that Chas didn’t even sound apologetic about it.

There wasn’t much else in the garage. The concrete floor was oil stained and cold. But it was looking like a last resort.

To shield himself from the worst of it, John folded half his coat around his shoulders and the other half under his head. It didn’t help much, but it was as good as he was going to get.

And it worked, because it wasn’t long before he was asleep.

The next thing John was aware of were large hands sliding beneath his stiff body, lifting him from the ground.

He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to be awake enough that Chas would notice, not when he’d likely make him walk. And John was enjoying the supportive touch more than he’d want to acknowledge, which he’d have to do, at least to himself, if he were awake. Besides, letting Chas in on either of those things was guaranteed to make the touching stop.

The seat was back in the cab, and Chas laid him on it with a gentleness that spoke of being a dad. John could feel the warmth of Chas above him as he braced one knee on the cushion. He smelled faintly of soap, but more of engine grease and just…Chas.

Chas managed to get John into position with hardly any touching beyond the necessary shifting and settling with his hands. But it would be so easy for John to grab the front of his shirt, wrap his legs around him, and pull Chas down onto the bench—down on top of him, and…and it was even easier to imagine Chas shoving him away, and the flippant remark John would have to make to save face.

John forced himself to remain still, although when Chas fastened the middle seatbelt around John’s waist, it was all he could do not to smirk and spoil the whole thing.

Chas took off his own jacket, folded it over, and gently slid it under John’s head. Through the slits of his eyes, John could see his look of concentration, as if this was an important task—as if _John_ were important—and there was something so ridiculous about that, because even those who’d made the mistake of loving him had never considered him worthy of all that.

It was too much.

Trying to stifle a—mostly _nervous_ , if he were honest—laugh, John pressed his lips to Chas’ wrist. He would have gone for somewhere with more impact, but it was the only part of Chas he could reach.

Chas’ eyes widened, but to his credit he didn’t jerk away. Of course, in this space, he’d probably only succeed in thumping his head on the roof.

“What do you think you're doing?” Chas asked.

“Showing some appreciation.” John smirked. “Although, while you’re all careful with me now, you didn’t do much for me when I was conscious. Funny that.”

“Funny?” Chas glowered. “‘Funny’ that I was working my butt off to get us out of here as fast as possible? You could have helped, you know.”

“I don’t think either of us really wanted me to do that.” They were better off if he stuck to things he knew something about. John fixed mystical nastiness, not cars.

“Wouldn’t kill you to learn.” Chas shrugged.

“But if it’s appreciation you’re after, well…” John wrapped one hand around the back of Chas’ head and gripped his shoulder with the other. Chas’ expression remained subdued, somber almost, but he didn’t stop John as he pulled him closer.

John pressed a damp kiss to Chas’ cheek. “Thank you”—and then the other one—“for working so hard”—he hesitated in front of Chas’ lips, not quite making contact—“to get me into bed.”

John moved up quickly to kiss Chas’ forehead, or as best as he could manage through his grin.

John wondered if shoving him away would be enough for Chas, or if there would be curse words and threats to go with it.

Chas’ reaction was hard to read. It was definitely grumpy, but also _maybe_ amused, and John watched curiously as Chas scooped a hand under his head, immobilizing it in a tight grip, ostensibly to keep John’s mouth from roaming anywhere else.

“You’re a brat,” Chas said, but oddly his tone was almost fond.

Before John could make a retort, he found Chas’ lips closing over his own.

John’s eyes widened, his mouth parted in surprise, and Chas took advantage of it, his tongue thrusting in, forcing John open.

John shoved his surprise aside as the sensations flooded into him. Chas tasted like coffee and late nights and that probably shouldn’t be as appealing as it was, but John just wanted more of it. Of him. And then he _was_ wrapping his thighs around Chas, pulling him down to grind against him, and he could feel the blessed, blessed hardness of him through the thin fabric of his trousers. John heard himself groan, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Chas didn’t seem to share his urgency however. He settled himself between John’s legs, using his size to pin him to the bench. His movements were slow and deliberate. John liked the contrast.

“Paul’s not coming back for a while, yeah?”

“No, but we can’t do this here. We’re not…” Chas seemed to be looking for a word—or rather he had a word, he just wasn’t willing to say it. “Prepared.”

“Prepared?” And then it hit John, what Chas meant, and even though it was a denial, it had him hard and straining against the inside of his pants because Chas was thinking about _fucking_ him.

“There’s spit,” John offered.

Chas snorted, as if what John had said was supposed to be a joke, but then he must have recognized something in John’s expression, for he stopped, his eyebrows drifting upward.

Chas shook his head. “Home.”

It would take fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Too much time for Chas to think about this, really think, and possibly remember that sex with John wasn’t necessarily a good idea.

Well, the thing to do then was not to let him wind down, not let him have a spare thought in his head that didn’t involve how much he wanted to fuck his best friend into the bloody mattress. Not until he actually was fucking him, and—

Chas was giving him a look, one that held a regular cocktail of emotions, and while John could see desire, yes, he could also see exasperation—and an uncomfortable level of understanding.

“You’re not going to keep your hands to yourself while I’m driving, are you?” Chas said.

John felt his face slacken just long enough to give himself away. “You can’t say you haven’t driven under worse conditions.”

Chas rolled his eyes, and exhaling loudly through his nose, he pushed up and away, breaking contact with John.

John opened his mouth, a flippant comment on his tongue, only to forget it entirely when he felt Chas’ hand on his zipper.

Chas’ motions were no longer slow, and he made quick work of tugging down John’s trousers and pants, leaving him exposed to just above his knees. But before John could adjust to the feel of the cold leather seat against his skin, his attention was caught by Chas’ hands as they went to work on John’s tie, and the buttons on his shirt.

In the spirit of being helpful, John reached to unbuckle the seatbelt from around his waist, only to have Chas seize his wrist and pin it above his head.

Chas pressed his mouth to John’s ear, his tongue tracing the curve. “Then,” he said, hot breath sending prickles along John’s skin, “for safety’s sake.” He tilted his head as if to indicate John, or the cab, or maybe all of it.

“Wasn’t going to make you crash, love.” John’s chuckle was cut off by the sound of Chas undoing his belt.

John inhaled sharply as he felt the warm silkiness of Chas’ cock bumping against his stomach, drops of pre-cum smearing onto his skin. And when both their lengths were taken into a meaty hand and stroked against each other, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from coming just at the thought of it.

But Chas wasn’t taking any pity on him, his thumb sliding over the slit as he found the rhythm that made John jerk his hips up to meet him.

Chas licked and sucked at John’s neck, and John made a sound that wasn’t a whimper—or at least not what he was going to call one when he thought back on this later—as teeth bit down on his shoulder, hard enough to bruise, but oh god did he love the idea of it, the idea of Chas marking him.

And then John was coming, hard, and spouting some nonsense, some bit of praise for Chas and his hands and something that might have been a profession of sorts, but he hoped was too garbled to sound like what it was.

He needn’t have worried because Chas was following him, grunting through the rhythmic spasms as he rutted against John’s body.

John would have been content to lay there as long as it was comfortable, until the sweat turned cool and their breathing slowed, but Chas had other ideas. Although he did lean in to share a kiss, gentler than the first time, before he pulled away.

Chas’ eyes were soft, dopey almost, but then he looked down at the mess they’d made of each other and frowned, as if it was more than his post-coital brain could handle.

“I don’t suppose you want me to lick it off, eh?” John’s grin was smug.

Chas rolled his eyes, but John's words seemed to prompt him into action, and he grabbed some napkins from the glove box and tossed half of them to John.

It seemed like only seconds before Chas was straightened up and climbing into the driver’s seat, meanwhile John was still a wreck. But it wasn’t _his_ fault if his clothes were more disheveled than Chas’. Besides, he’d gotten a larger share of the mess on him. Gravity was a heartless git.

“Give me those.” Chas reached back to take the used napkins from John before he could toss them on the floor. “Why don’t you try to get some rest while I drive.”

It wasn’t a question, and John smirked at him. “Or else what? Got more in store for me?”

He expected another eye roll, or an exasperated sigh, but Chas just shook his head, smiling as he started the cab.

John was inexplicably pleased by that, and he made a small huff to cover the sensation. He adjusted Chas’ jacket under his head as he lay back down, and despite himself, he found he was grinning—probably dopily—up at the roof of the cab.

It was hardly surprising, considering he’d finally gotten where he’d been trying to get for _years_. And when they got to the mill John had every intention of having a round two. Maybe not right away, but definitely some time before dawn. Definitely.

But if he nodded off now, after what they’d done, he was likely to fall into too deep of a sleep, and the last thing he needed was for Chas to carry him up to bed and let him catch up on all his missing rest.

“You’ll wake me when we get to the mill, yeah?”

Chas was quiet for just a second too long. “Sure.”

John frowned, his eyes flickering to the back of Chas’ head. “I mean it.”

“Uh-huh.”

 _Bloody hell_. Well, all John had to do was lie here and _not_ sleep for fifteen minutes. He was capable of that, surely.

And by closing his eyes he would conserve energy, making it less likely that he would be overtaken by a true sleep. It was a perfectly plausible solution.

And it was only fifteen minutes.

He closed his eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Magazine song [I Wanted Your Heart](http://www.metrolyrics.com/i-wanted-your-heart-lyrics-magazine.html)
> 
> A huge thank you to [RowanBaines](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines) for beta reading this! Especially since she wasn't familiar with the show, but went and watched episodes just to help me because she's basically the most awesome person ever <3 <3


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